Salvation
by toni.KW
Summary: Hermione returns to Hogwarts post-war to complete her final year of education while Harry and Ron each have a career of their own. She did not expect love. She did not expect hate. She did not expect to be the angel of salvation of a worthy soul. Post DH. Potentially explicit content.
1. The Forgotten Daughter

**Disclaimer: **All characters are creations of Ms. Joanne Rowling (J.K. Rowling), not of mine. Any similarities in plot or characters are derived from the published works of those including but not limited to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Warner Brothers.

The days are long gone when I would stay up til 4am in my bed, reading fanfics on my iPod. I shall write instead.

**Chapter 1. The Forgotten Daughter**

Autumn was coming to an end and crisp leaves were seen twirling in the chilling air near Central Station. It was 10am in the morning, and the last of the commuters were rushing through the gates, eager to bury themselves in the warmness of their offices. A lone pigeon was scavenging bread crumbs, away from the busy leather shoes and designer heels. It jumped a little in fright when a distant 'pop' was sounded, sending it back to its companions. A short while later, a man in his mid 20's ducked out of the gap between the ticket machines, and hurried across the length of the area towards a locked door marked 'Authorised Personnel Only'. If you ask me, this man must be a decade behind in terms of fashion sense: who on earth wears long, striped trench coats over midnight blue pyjama dresses? The man however, seemed perfectly fine with it, and kept walking through the crowd as if he had not been delving into his mother's wardrobe.

Across the hall and inside the locked door, was an older man sitting at his desk, feet propped onto the scattered piles of paper. He looked up when the door glowed brightly, and greeted the man in odd attire.

"Morning Rick, what took you so long?"

Rick slid out of his coat, ruffling his hair in frustration. "Hey Steve. Damn Muggles think it's a perfectly good excuse to stand around the station and not go to work just cos there's a damn protestor on the Harbour Bridge..." Steve picked up his Morning Prophet, slid his glasses further down his long nose and ignored Rick's continuing grumbles.

"...had to Apparate at the very end and walk all the way here, those damn Muggles wouldn't clear off and do whatever they do..."

"Yea well it's not like you don't need to shed off all those extra fat from those Lemontings right," replied Steve, barely glancing up from his paper. "I've told you, it's Lamingtons..." Over the summer, it seems that Rick's Muggleborn girlfriend had gotten him into the local delicacy, and he wouldn't eat another dessert since.

"Yea well anyways, who have we got incoming this morning?" Rick asked, finally falling into the plush armchair opposite Steve. After a good rummaging in the pile on the wooden desk, Steve finally pulled out a piece of parchment and squinted down the list.

"A young witch from London, England. Visiting relatives, it seems..." Steve mumbled, "10:10 sharp, so you'd better get your equipment ready mate. Then we got another one straight after , 10:13."

Rick gave him a roll of his eyes, and rose from his comfortable pose to get his gear. At the same time, a loud 'crack' resonated throughout the room, and a young witch Apparated out of thin air onto the discoloured carpet. She steadied her feet, and turned towards the men.

Stepping forward with an instrument at hand, Rick donned his best professional manner, "your wand please, Madam." The witch took out her wand and placed it gingerly on the silver disc.

"Let's see...Walnut, twelve and three-quarter inches, dragon heartstring. S'that right, love?" Rick looked up from the measurements, questioning the pretty brunette before him.

A nod from her - and another emotion flitted on her face for half a second that Rick couldn't quite put his finger on. Was it disgust?

"Alright then, well owl us when you are planning to leave and we'll put in a time slot for you," said Steve from his chair, scratching his quill onto the list. "Actually," the witch opened her mouth for the first time, speaking nervously, "I will be going back to England by Muggle transport." Seeing the blank looks on the men's face, she added hastily, "by aeroplane, I mean."

Rick smiled, "Hmm, Muggle parents? Oh, well in that case, we will have authorities stationed at Kingsford Smith Airport. Just let them know when you leave and they'll notify us alright sweetie?" A quick nod from her and she turned to the doorway, disappearing with a glow. "A nice day to you too, ma'am," muttered Steve. Turning to the still grinning Rick, it was his turn to roll his eyes, "seriously, what is it with you and Muggleborns..."


	2. Home

**Disclaimer: **All characters are creations of Ms. Joanne Rowling (J.K. Rowling), not of mine. Any similarities in plot or characters are derived from the published works of those including but not limited to J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Warner Brothers.

**Chapter 2. Home**

Hermione Granger stepped out of the locked door and was greeted instantly by a slap of icy air on her face. Gulping in a breath of burning air, she got her bearings right and set off at a brisk pace, all the while hiding her wand back inside the sleeve of her blue military coat. _Can't be too careless here, Death Eaters are still at large. _As she strolled past a pay phone, she seemed remember something and retraced her steps, all the while rummaging in her beaded purse. Slipping in a few coins, she began to dial.

"Hello?" came a soft feminine voice.

"Oh Ginny, it's Hermione here. Can you get Ron please? I promised him I'll give him a call when I've arrived safely."

"Yea no problem, he might be slightly cranky though, it's past midnight here after all," replied Ginny tiredly before the sound of the phone being put down was heard. Hermione pursed her lips while she waited, feeling guilty that she woke her friend, but a promise is a promise. On the other end, she could start to hear the sounds of pounding footsteps across wooden floors - and for good measure, she held the receiver a foot away from her ear.

True to Ginny's words, Ron was loud and angry, but calmed down quickly enough in the presence of Hermione's anxiety. It's not an easy task after all, even for the brightest witch of her age. He knew how emotional Hermione can be when it comes to her parents.

Stubborn as she was, Hermione insisted to do this alone when she told Harry and Ron of her plans. Harry was thoughtful for a while but respected her decision in the end, deciding that Hermione was strong enough to do this on her own. Ron, being Ron, gave quite a huge fit and was all going on about the "protecting girlfriend" crap. In the end, it was an urgent Quidditch practice that got Ron to cancel his plans.

"Are you sure Hermione? I can always tell Ragmar* that I'm sick and can't go. I can Apparate there now if you want," came Ron's pleading. But Hermione knew better.

"For Merlin's sake Ron, I can do this by myself. You worked so hard to get into the team as a reserve, don't give the others an excuse to kick you out. Besides, it's not like you can help much with the reversal charm is it? And I'd really like to have some alone time with my parents afterwards - if I do succeed that is," frowned Hermione as the worrisome thought that she might fail came into her mind.

"You know you'll do fine Hermione. Look, just be careful alright? I heard from Harry that some of the Death Eaters managed to escape abroad, and I swear some of them are gonna be in Australia."

Muttering her reassurances, Hermione said her goodbyes and managed to catch Ron's "I love you" just before clicking the receiver back into place, feeling slightly frustrated that Ron was being so overprotective of her. Who was is that got them out of trouble all these times, after all? But then again - as the image of a mountain troll flashed in her mind - it had indeed been the boys who saved her on the first count. With a small sad chuckle and a heart heavier than ever, she set off again into the cold morning of Sydney.

Several hours later Hermione was hiding uncomfortably beside the flower bed, covered from head to toe under her cloak of invisibility. The grass was prickling her ankles as she sat cross-legged. Finally putting her Galleons to good use, she decided to get her own invisibility cloak rather than asking Harry for his. Harry's Auror training had started and she felt guilty for constantly borrowing the cloak, whether it was for the purpose of avoiding the Daily Prophet reporters when she headed out for errands; or simply to avert the admiring glances from fellow witches and wizards when she visited Flourish and Blotts. It had certainly been harder to get out of the public eye after the War, as word got out about the girl who helped Harry Potter in the defeat of the darkest wizard of all times. Hermione likes a simple life after all, just like Harry (although the same cannot be said for their red-haired friend.) The new cloak was nowhere as good as Harry's (_"of course not, THAT one is one-third of the Deathly Hallows," _thought Hermione as she did a mental roll of eyes,) but it would have to do for now.

Glancing up at the house through the silvery material, she had to marvel at how her parents managed to get such a modest home so different to the cottage they had in England. It was grey-walled with modern glass panes, complete with a flat roof and a cutting edge structure. Neatly trimmed bushes surrounded the front yard. She dared not ask the neighbours if she got the right house, but a quick peek inside the letterbox confirmed that this house was indeed the home of the Wilkins. Noticing the blinking light through the glass of the front door, she had realised with a grimace that her plan of breaking in while her parents were at work wouldn't work. _We didn't even have a home security system back in England. _Freezing the system with magic was no hard work for her, but it would sure raise the suspicions of her parents once they returned.

Shifting her position, Hermione checked her watch and saw that it was near 6 o'clock. She had spent the whole of the afternoon hiding in the front yard, going through her plan again and again. She hadn't eaten except for the porridge forced down her throat by Mrs. Weasley before she left the Burrow, and now her stomach was starting to grumble.

As if on cue, a black Mercedes turned into the driveway, crunching the cement under its wheels. The windows were tinted from Hermione's side view, but the silhouette of her dad behind the wheels was enough to make her heart thump in irregular beats. It was now or never. Ignoring her numb legs, she got up from her position and did an awkward sprint towards the front door, all the while checking that the cloak did not flap too much around her ankles.

The engine of the car silenced and out came Wendell and Monica Wilkins, they were still dressed in their dentist gear but with warm jumpers shielding them from the cold.

"Can you get the mail, please," said Monica as she fished out her keys from her handbag, climbing up the steps to the front door. Hermione realised that her mum's voice was strained and her face was older than she remembered. Resisting the urge to throw herself into the arms of woman in front of her, Hermione held her breath as Monica turned the lock and busied herself with the security pad. Her own loud pulse wouldn't stop ringing in her ears.

Hermione made a mad dash into the house as Monica left the door open for Wendell.

*A.N.: Ragmar Dorkins - manager of the Chudley Cannons.

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_Something's not right._ Hermione watched her parents throughout the evening and felt the tension frizzling between them - the way they would avoid each other's eyes, or the way they cringed when their elbows would accidentally touch while preparing dinner in the open kitchen. But she kept her place in the alcove in the hallway, hidden behind the huge leafy pot plant. Her suspicions were confirmed when her mum retired upstairs for the night, neither giving each other a word of goodnight. Hermione watched her dad with a sinking heart as he stalked over to the pile of blankets on the couch and lay down with a throaty sigh, enclosing everything in darkness as he reached out to turn off the floor lamp.

The cloak came off when the first snore came, and Hermione tip-toed towards the sleeping form that is her dad while muttering a hasty _Lumos._ She charmed her dad into a dreamless sleep and levitated him upstairs into the master bedroom, after making sure she heard her mum's gentle breaths. After repeating the charm on Monica, Hermione stood at the foot of the bed in semi-darkness. _Well, here goes._ She raised her wand, ignoring the dose of fear rising up her throat.

Then for the first time in almost fourteen years, Hermione Granger crept into the space between her parents and cried herself to sleep, wondering if she had single-handedly torn her family apart. She hoped for a better morning to come, and hoped for the feeling of home again.

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Thousands of miles away in the middle of a thunderous sea, two guards were walking along a dimly lit corridor with a pale young man in between. The man seemed to have lost the swagger he held years ago, and prowled along in a fashion not unlike that of a toddler learning his first steps; or that of an old man stumbling out of bed. Gone were the sharp clicking of heels; replaced by the dull scratches of soles against concrete. The guards guided him with a sharp left turn and into a foul-smelling cell.

The boy glanced up as he entered the cell, and his eyes fell on the lone figure sitting near the small window. The stranger regarded him with curious stares, and broke the silence. "I would have thought you would choose to stay under house arrest like your parents, but no - you _insisted_ on leaving the Manor to come here instead." He eyed the cracked, greying walls with disgust, before addressing the pale young man again, "your trial will be exactly two weeks from now, same day as your parents. Now let me make myself clear, they instructed me to prioritise your defence first before theirs. I should be able to get you out of Azkaban, despite the _contrary_," he eyed the black shape inked onto the boy's left forearm, "...and were pretty much forced into your assigned tasks. So just let me do the talking, and speak only when necessary before the Wizengamot." With a hesitant glance at the still silent boy and a swish of robes, the family lawyer left the cell.

_He's wasting his efforts, even if father's has promised him the whole of the family's fortune. He may have gotten the family out the first time all those years ago, won't be so bloody lucky the second time round._ Releasing a silent puff of breath, the pale young man threw himself into a corner of the dingy cell and rested his pointy chin on his drawn up knees, ignoring the stabbing pain already forming on his tailbone.

Truth be told, Draco Malfoy would rather stay in Azkaban than return to the Manor. Even if it turns out that he was not pressed any charges, this stinking place would still be better than the house he once called a home.

Screams echoed in his ears.


End file.
